It Never Fails
by Captain Hilts
Summary: So he'd finally "earned his place" in the group? Maybe he didn't want it. Wasn't no place for a Dixon, anyway.   Oneshot.


Author's note: Just a little insight into Daryl's character, how he comes to terms with certain things. Meant to be like a deleted or extended scene of sorts. I had fun writing in his dialect haha. Enjoy! :)

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><p>He'd "earned his place among them." Earned it? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He and Merle had found the group a long time ago and he'd never felt the need to fit in. It was a bullshit feeling. He didn't <em>need<em> to belong to anything. He could spend the rest of his life out in the woods, hunting to survive and getting rid of the occasional geek.

So why the hell was he staying here?

He couldn't answer that question and it was pissing him off. He didn't want to admit he liked the idea of staying put somewhere. Before, Daryl had followed Merle's example easily and simply. If he disagreed with things, Merle either ignored him, berated him or Daryl just chose to let his brother barrel through whatever stood in their way. In his experience, it kept them alive despite the people they lost in the process.

But Merle was gone. Where the fuck was beyond him. His brother had probably roared his way through Atlanta and didn't look back. Daryl knew he hadn't forgotten about him because he sure as hell hadn't forgotten about his big brother.

The sun was back out, hot and brutal. Daryl welcomed the heat, trying to ignore the fact that there were a few leaves already turning in the trees. He dropped back to the dirt with his belongings and stared back across the field toward the farmhouse. Everyone was moving around like they normally did, but Daryl could tell there was a charge in the air; something wasn't right. The arrival of that kid had fucked everything up, mores so than it was, and he knew the Sheriff was going to try and take care of the problem that afternoon.

Daryl grabbed his quiver of arrows to check the points on the ones he'd made earlier, happy to have something else to do. He needed to make more and set to work slicing at the pile of branches he'd gathered the night before. This was the kind of work he liked. Didn't require much thought or patience. But other things nagged at his mind, much like they had the night Carol had kissed his temple and thanked him for what he'd done. Daryl scowled and sliced at the sticks, content with the way the knife shredded them to a deadly point.

But his own voice echoed in his head, the insults he'd screamed at her the night before. He tried to convince himself he didn't give a shit about her, or Sophia, or anyone else. No he didn't fucking care, not anymore.

"Shit!"

Blood pattered to the dirt and he jammed his thumb against his teeth to stave off the bleeding. He rooted around in his rucksack for a first aid kit with his good hand. Finding none, his hand closed around a roll of duct tape and he tore off a strip with his knife. Voices carried across the field and he recognized the boy's. Daryl glanced up at Carl and the Sheriff before turning to wrap up his thumb. Rick must have been leaving and his boy was trying to call shotgun. Daryl winced at the pain in his thumb and tightened the tape.

_Losing battle there, kiddo_.

A gust of wind blew a burst of leaves across the yard behind him. Several leaves bounced around his head. With his thumb wrapped, he set back to work. After a few minutes, a small shadow fell over him, successfully blocking his light.

"What do you want, kid?"

Carl stared at the various arrows at his feet and picked up one of the real bolts. He ran the feathers over his palm and frowned curiously.

"Nuthin'" he said.

Before Daryl could snap at him for handling the arrows, Carl placed the bolt back in the grass and plopped to the ground at Daryl's left. The boy's cheeks were red from the heat, though Rick's old hat seemed to keep most of the sun from his eyes. Daryl clenched his jaw.

"There somethin' you want or you just gonna sit there?"

Carl frowned at him. For the first time, Daryl could see a flicker of Rick's anger in him. He recognized that look in the Sheriff's eyes whenever Shane decided to undermine his authority. Which was happening a lot lately.

"Maybe if you weren't such a jerk people would talk to you," Carl said.

Daryl scoffed. He went back to slicing at the branches. Carl watched him for a moment, taking one of the unstripped sticks. He turned it over in his hands as he spoke.

"Didn't mean that. I don't think you're a jerk anymore."

Daryl rolled his eyes. Now he felt complete.

_My ass you don't, kid_.

He didn't say anything, so Carl took it as an opportunity to speak.

"When I first met you, I was kind of afraid of you…"

Daryl had to smirk. "Sure you ain't the first."

Carl smiled a little, probably relieved that Daryl didn't think he was a wimp. He fidgeted where he sat, still turning the stick in his hands.

"I thought you were nicer than your brother, though. You didn't make fun of us, really. And you talked to me sometimes. "

Daryl nodded. Merle had told him not to think too much about the other people, but the kids he couldn't help half-thinking of. Shane couldn't fucking talk to them—it had been like watching one of those lame Hallmark movies every time he spoke to them. Daryl could see in their faces they didn't quite like him telling them what to do.

"Sophia thought you were acting that way on purpose."

Daryl stopped slicing and looked over at the kid. "That right?"

"She told me you secretly liked us. You brought us food, and she said that's how she knew you weren't really a bad guy. It's like one of those movies, y'know?"

Daryl laughed, though it sounded more like a grunt. Carl nodded.

"She wasn't afraid of you, really. She knew you were a pretty cool guy."

The kid was trying to make him feel better. Little shit had inherited his daddy's empathy. Daryl finished with the current arrow and set it aside. Carl handed him the next stick and he started the process over again.

"I wish I could've helped her…" he murmured.

Daryl looked crookedly at the boy. "You ain't the only one."

He could feel Carl staring at him as he went back to work. He knew kids could see through bullshit more than anyone else. That was clear in the way Carl looked at him. He knew he wasn't just working; he was keeping his mind busy so he wouldn't think.

"I'm sorry, Daryl," he said.

"What for?'

Carl hesitated. "…for Sophia."

Daryl's eyes stung. He tried to tell himself it was the dust, the sun, something else other than his fucking tears. He sat up straight, his knife loose in his hand. The trees blurred around him, like a painter had smeared all the tree tops and the sky together. Daryl cursed.

"It's not your fault…" Carl added.

His voice was nervous, as if he knew what he was risking, saying all this shit about guilt and responsibility. Daryl wondered if he knew how wise beyond his years he really was. Anger burned in his chest, but failure hurt him more. He felt like screaming at Carl like he had Carol but found he didn't have it in him. Instead, Daryl managed a short nod. Carl seemed to understand. He leaned back on his hands and stared around them at the trees. They sat in silence for several minutes until Carl spoke again.

"Can you teach me how to use the bow?"

Daryl sniffed and wiped sweat from his chin. "It's heavy, kid."

"How 'bout tracking stuff?"

He considered it. "Sure. But we gotta run it by your old man."

Carl rolled his eyes. Daryl smirked. Another familiar voice called across the field, and they both could see Lori standing by the RV, waving for Carl.

"Lunch time," Daryl said.

He knew the boy was not keen on the idea at all. He wanted to stay with someone who didn't always treat him like a child. Daryl didn't blame him. But he nudged Carl's shoulder.

"Go on. Don't keep your mamma waitin'."

Carl heaved a sigh, one last attempt to try and seal a spot next to Daryl, but he wasn't going to buy it. Daryl flicked the brim of the hat over Carl's eyes.

"Get. 'Fore I steal this to wear myself."

Carl finally hurried to his feet and managed to look disappointed. It was the little kid brand of disappointment; the one reserved for not being able to do "grown-up stuff."

"All right," he huffed. "See ya."

He stalked away, dragging his feet. Small clouds of dust trailed behind his sneakers.

"Hey." Daryl tossed a small rock at him and it bounced off his ankle. Carl turned.

"I'll need some help later on. If you wanna go along with me an' Glen, you can."

A smile broke across the kid's face. "Okay!"

Daryl nodded to him. Carl headed back across the field toward his mother, who stood waiting, hands on her hips. Daryl watched her take her son in her arms and press a kiss to his head before leading him up to the house. The sting was gone from his eyes and the trees were as bright fucking green as they'd been the day they arrived. He took up his knife and went back to work.

He'd come down for dinner, but not before then.


End file.
